"Yuriel, mon frere, there is no need for such disconsolation. The armour, she can be cleaned, the soul also with more honourable foes."
Yuriel nods thoughtfully at Jacen and Armand's kind words. He first looks a little surprised and uncomfortable, as if unused to receiving encouragement or support. Then his demeanor brightens, and he stands up.
"Well said. Come, we have a new-met friend, deserving of welcome. And a comrade deserving of all honour. Booj, come down, if you are done with your victims!"
"A most interesting group, I must say. So do you do this for a living, or was this simply a passing good deed? I am Andros, by the way, a simple wanderer."
"Forgive me, but a simple wanderer is not such an one as you. A simple wanderer will not pause to help in the midst of combat. However it may be, you are welcome, Andros. We will discuss our purpose shortly, but for now there is a matter of urgency and honour to be undertaken."
Armand doffs his hat again.
"For myself, I am Armand Duvallier. I am most fortunate in my comrades. Voila - Booj, slayer of small lizards. Advance Booj."
Booj gathers up the valuables and descends, spear in one hand and pouch of coin in the other, beaming.
"Here's what I found, Boss!"
Yuriel nods politely to Andros, but does not yet introduce himself. His attention is on the small goblin approaching with the spoils of victory.
"Booj, today you have won a famous victory. I present you with this gift, in recognition of bravery, ferocity, and the piled bodies of our slain enemies."
Yuriel unpins from his cloak a bronze broach, worked in the likeness of two great sea serpents entwined, with chips of green stone in their eyes. He pins this broach with all dignity to Booj's cloak, replacing the goblin's simple wooden fastener.
Yuriel steps back, smiling, and says in a more conversational tone, "May I look at that spear? It is not of kobold make."
Armand nods approvingly.
"Booj, I am poor in worldly power but I am a nobleman and so have the right to grant knighthood on the battlefield."
He touches the goblin on the shoulders with his still smouldering dagger.
"So, you are now Monsieur Booj. This is official, you understand and the papers will follow."
Booj fingers the bronze broach, and looks up at Yuriel and Armand in awe. "I did it," he says in tones of disbelief.
He passes the spear to Yuriel.
"Well met, Andros. I am Jacen, humble servant of Kavast."
So do you do this for a living, or was this simply a passing good deed?
The cleric ponders for a moment before saying, "I guess we do seem to keep running into these sorts of situations, so I would have to say the former."
Yuriel notes that Jacen is talking to he newcomer, and thinks that will give him time to check the build and balance of the spear. He steps a few paces away from the tower, and the group, and begins to move through a series of forms, as if fighting imaginary enemies.
"In these times, it is usually best to at least confirm that if you pass a battle, it won't be coming after you next. I simply stuck around because you weren't hostile and had a good explanation of what you were doing; otherwise I would have kept moving along. An interesting group to be sure to be allied with a goblin."
"Booj is a most dear comrade and his honour is as my own. Of what concern is it that he is small? His stature among us is great."
Armand's eyebrows start to twitch dangerously at the suggestion that one of his companions might be unworthy.
"I did not mean to offend, it's just that to most people, goblins are foes, not friends. Is there a story how Booj came to be a part of your party?"
"If there was no offence intended, I take none," says Armand magnanimously.
"It is indeed a curious tale. Monsieur Booj is most proudly a slave. He was assigned to a unit of which we were formerly a part."
Booj looks from Andros to his allies, apparently confused, but accustomed to being talked over.
"Most proudly a slave? Very few people freely choose slavery. Perhaps Master Booj himself would like to share his story directly; being short is no excuse for permanently talking over one's head."
"My- this slave's story? No story, Boss. This slave was born a Legion slave. End of the story, Boss."
The signs seem odd, but it could be worth following up on. What would the odds be of happening across a small group of fellows, among which is a man who wields the power of thunder and lightning, and another who appears to have heritage ties to the very seas themselves. The aspects of nature seem to have touched this group for some reason, not yet clear.
"Interesting design," Yuriel says of the spear, mostly to himself, and then, "I shall see how it fares in battle."
He looks up from his thoughts and says, "So, Andros, you have our story. Do you then follow with us, or continue on your own path?"
Once satisfied that magic, steel, and flesh were prepared, she donned her armor and trudged openly toward the keep once more. She was sure she'd be painfully rebuffed again, but her resolve didn't wane. It crossed her mind that she would likely face fewer troubles scampering between bits of cover here and there, but proud warriors didn't "scamper" nor hide if they could help it. She had hoped the denizens of the world outside the dwarfhall were more forgiving and pleasant than her breathern, but they seemed just as eager to make war, and despite offering quarter at the start of each melee with the strange, local creatures, none took her up on her offer and she was forced to fight ferociously, though she wasn't entirely sure they could understand her words, despite speaking in the trade tongue.
"I believe I shall see where your path heads for a while; perhaps it will provide the enlightenment I seek. Not being from this land, I fear my ability to interact with it on my own accord is rather limited. What is this Legion you speak of?" As you have a chance to appraise the newcomer and his words, you realize that he is probably actually still quite young and operating mostly on his own whim, luck, and bravado rather than knowledge and skill.
"The Legion? It is an army and an area for employment only. It is not important."
Armand shrugs expressively. "For myself, I am happy for you to join with us."
Turning to the rest of his companions, he adds, "For now we should perhaps return to the encampment and assure them that the menace of small lizards is no more."
"A nice though Armand. But our true test lies yonder," Yuriel points further uphill, where a few dim towers can be seen peaking above the trees.
"Consider this an ... appetiser."
"Enfin, we proceed onwards. My eyesight is not of the best."
"It is nothing. Yes, we proceed. Andros, we'll be glad of your company and aid. Welcome."
"Right, Boss!"
Armand nods, mollified, and follows along.
There is a flash of movement from the east, outside the keeps walls. It was brief, but there is likely something over there. There's no indication as to what it might be.
Briefly.
She ducked to the nearest cover deciding to assess the strength of the warriors and get a sense of whether they would be friend or foe. She still knew woefully little of the world outside Sevost and wasn't keen on striding up to a group of bandits, for all she knew, with a smile on her dwarven face.
Andros pulls out his crossbow and loads it, ready to provide cover.
Booj pauses, waiting for instruction.
Clutching his holy symbol, the Man of Evo Pezar heads towards the disturbance.
"Let's check it out, Booj," whispers Jacen.
"Right, Boss," Booj whispers back and follows Jacen.
"The collapsed tower may be our best way in," Yuriel comments, and follows Jacen and Booj. He is light on his feet, but not quiet as his bronzed scale armor chinks and creaks with every step.
Booj tugs on Jacen's sleeve and points ahead.
All that Jacen notices is the cold, until Booj points him in the right direction.
Armand pays little heed to his surroundings.
Following behind the others, Andros watches his surroundings carefully, and upon observing an individual in the trees, stops to watch the lass, taking no further actions for the time being, but ready to react more strongly if required.
Tryg doesn't recognize the man's holy symbol. Her weary shoulders slump as she notices the goblin point her out to its companions. The dwarf's knuckles whiten beneath her fur lined, leather gloves as she grips he staff and hammer. She sets her legs should-width apart and bends at the knees, lowering her center of gravity and steeling herself for battle and steps out from behind her cover into open view. She claps the striking surface of her staff against the haft of her warhammer, her lips carefully running over well-practiced arcane prose. The tremendous clap of lightning striking stone reverberates in the air nearby.
"Aye. You've spotted me then, goblin. What happens now? Be you friend of foe?" The weary Tryggrdottir calls loudly, hoping for the former, as the group had not attacked upon sight; and she certainly could do with the company of ones who didn't wish her head on a pike.
Startled at being addressed directly, Booj squeaks. "Friend?"
Tryg was actually a little taken aback- the fact that the goblin spoke Trade seemed to reinforce his answer. She was still on her guard though; these lands had been fierce. But she allowed her demeanor to soften and lowered her weapons a bit.
"Which amongst you leads?" She asks more gently, her voice unfaltering and clear.
"Monseigneur Jacen guides us in matters spiritual and tactical. It is a most convenient arrangement."
Armand doffs his hat and allows lightning to play around his dagger.
"I see that we have the elements in common, n'est pas?"
Her recent use of magic left Tryg's lips tinged the slight blue-white of a Northern cavern's frost, and a barely perceptible puff of fog hung in the air after the dwarf maiden's every breath. She relaxed more, seeing that this group was thankfully amiable. Perhaps she would not need to fight again this day.
"Aye; that we do," she replied, "my study of arcane knowledge grips me as solidly as any glacier and causes the blood in my veins to flow just as frigid as the waters after a spring thaw. I seek mastery of mountain magics- the power in a peel of distant thunder; the inevitable victory of a Winter's icy grip. But that is not what brings me to these uncivilized lands."
She lowered her weapons fully to her sides as an unspoken sign of good faith and cautiously strode several paces nearer, pausing to offer a slight bow, albeit a slightly awkward one, as she didn't take her eyes from the party before her.
"I be Tryggrdottir, of the mighty dwarfhall, Valsgarde, in Sevost. If we are to speak, preferable to mortal combat, I'm sure, might I close the ground between us without facing hostility for the boldness of my action?"
"I apologize for my caution," she quickly amended, "These lands have been nothing but savage to me."
"I, too, am a stranger in this lands, even while it is somehow a part of me, though nature has chosen to reveal itself to me mostly through fire thus far, instead of ice and thunder. I an Andros, pilgrim and wanderer." The tall young man speaks quietly as he turns his attention to the ruins in front of him, watching for signs of movement on that front.
"For myself, I am Armand Duvallier, nobleman and cherished of Chalyse. If your intentions are as honourable as your words, you are most welcome to our company."
Formalities over, Armand replaces his hat.
"At present, we attempt to demoralise the small lizards. Not perhaps the most noble of quests, but a service to those in need near here."